


Clearer Than Water

by BloodSeiryu, Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Friends to Lovers, I don't even remember what inspired this, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nearly finished wip, No Mary Morstan, Old Writing, Sherlock has a secret, Smut, They both don't do emotions, Top John', mermaid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodSeiryu/pseuds/BloodSeiryu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: Sherlock has been keeping a secret for weeks. One that could end the febal relationship he's maintained with John after the fall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My phone won't let me add taggs. Lame. I'll tag it later. 
> 
> Blood and I have had this sitting in our shared Google docs for literally years... so enjoy

**Chapter One**

 

Sherlock had been hiding something from John the last few months. Not that John expected Sherlock to share everything with him. But Sherlock had been leaving the house nearly every night, coming home in the early morning hours just before dawn and he would sleep, dead to the world, until at least noon. If it hadn't been for the sleeping, John would have thought nothing of it. But Sherlock had trained himself, and prided in his ability, to go days without sleep without showing any signs of exhaustion. But now, even after hours of sleep every morning, it didn't take a doctor to see that Sherlock was clearly exhausted.

"Right..." John stood and stifled a yawn. "Think I'll head to bed then." He glanced at Sherlock who didn't even look up from his violin."You should too. You, no offense, look like shit." The lanky detective simply arched an eyebrow and continued playing.

"Well... Goodnight then." Tonight was the night John was going to find out what was up with 

Sherlock. He would go to bed, wait for Sherlock to leave, and follow him. Perhaps he was pushing the line of personal boundaries, but John needed to make sure that Sherlock hadn't gotten himself into trouble. From what he could tell, he wasn't hurt. There were no visible bruises or welts like the time Sherlock had taken up underground boxing.

"Hmm..." Sherlock stared out the window and continued filling the room with his melancholy composure. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock knew he had no intention of sleeping. But with one final glance at his friend John silently slipped out of the room. Up in his room John was careful to trace the exact steps he'd take as if he were actually going to sleep.

John settled into bed and listened as Sherlock's music changed from the melancholy tune, to a soft soothing lullaby. For all his shortcomings, Sherlock made up for it nearly every night as he lulled John to sleep by the soft crooning of his violin. John's lids grew heavy as the music wrapped around him, calling to him. Carefully, without making a sound, John propped himself up against his headboard and listened as Sherlock played for him.

After playing for what seemed longer than normal, the music stopped and a heavy silence engulfed the flat. As quietly as he could, John moved to the chair by the window and watched the street below. He knew once he saw Sherlock he'd have to move both quietly and quickly. Sherlock was an expert at blending in, at disappearing in a moments notice. Shadows danced on the street below, and John nearly missed seeing Sherlock slip silently down the street.

John sucked in a breath and called upon all of his military training. Not needing to worry about noise control inside, as Sherlock was already gone, John rushed down both flights of stairs and only slowed when he stopped to grabbed his jacket. He reached the front door in record time and stole silently onto the street. He was just in time to see Sherlock’s shadow round a corner about halfway down the street.

"Not getting on the tube then... Good. Easier to follow without being seen." John muttered to himself as he hurried silently down the street. He had been wondering what he would do if Sherlock had taken to tube. Other than confront Sherlock, or try to get on a different car while still being able to see him, there were no other options than to try again another night.  Walking was best for following a certain detective.

Sherlock Holmes was obviously a man on a mission, if his hurried stride was anything to go by. A worn duffle bag swayed with the man’s determined movements, its firm body occasionally colliding with the shifting muscles of his back. All of this went completely unnoticed by the consulting detective however, his entire focus being on what lay at the end of both the literal and proverbial path he was currently on.  

Pale fingers gripped the thick, woven cord that curved against the plane of his shoulder. His entire body was thrumming with undispensed energy. Sherlock had developed numerous addictions throughout his life, but none compared to the release he experienced through his current activity. It wasn’t anything as unfavorable as his cocaine addiction had been, however it was still something Sherlock knew he had to keep secret. The man was already looked at as being a freak, and while the opinions of the usual populous concerned him not, John Watson’s opinion certainly mattered. Sherlock swallowed as his nerves rang out deep in his stomach. There was no possible way John Watson would ever continue accepting Sherlock if he knew about the man’s nightly activities.

The dark haired man’s heart rate began increasing as his destination slowly began cresting over the horizon. Darkness enveloped him and his desires, but what lay ahead was his light, his sanctuary from the judgement and cruel intentions. He wanted to run, he wanted to dash forward and burst through the gates that separated him from his personal paradise. He held himself in check however. If he ran, he would be that much closer to the end. Logically, Sherlock knew such thoughts were ludicrous, that the rotation of the sun was in no way impacted by whether he walked or sprinted. It didn’t stop him from experiencing such wayward thoughts unfortunately.

The building wasn’t anything elaborate. In fact, it was quite dull compared to the other establishments that littered the streets nearby. Something that made this place ideal for his secret rendezvous. Reaching the unusual elongated double doors that decorated the front of the building, Sherlock took a quick sweeping glance behind him before inserting the brass key the owner had given him into the lock and manipulating the tumblers inside. He had, on a previous occasion, assisted Mr. Worthington in discovering and apprehending the one responsible for the massive embezzlement going on inside his business. It was an enormous scandal, considering the amount and how long it had gone undetected, and Mr. Worthington would have surely lost his livelihood if it hadn’t been for one Sherlock Holmes. In return, Sherlock was allowed complete access to his establishment at any hour, for any reason, no questions.   

The dull click of the lock disengaging made his excitement increase tenfold. He was even more eager than when he was traversing the route up to this point. Soon he would find the release he so desperately desired. After slipping inside, Sherlock disengaged the alarm and continued on his way.

Following Sherlock had been easier than expected. Sherlock lead them on at a steady pace and didn't slow until he apparently reached his destination. John’s heart lept out, or so it felt, of his chest as Sherlock, who was perfectly illuminated by a street light, paused, turned around and glanced in his direction. He barely had enough time to jump behind a small garbage bin before Sherlock’s eyes swept over the very spot he’d been standing. John counted to ten before cautiously peering around the building. He was just in time to see Sherlock’s slender form slip inside. With hurried movements, lest he lose Sherlock should the detective slip out of a back door, John crossed the street and walked up two steps that lead to the door. The overwhelming smell of chlorine stung his nose as he quietly closed the door behind him.

_ “Pool…”  _ John thought absently to himself as he looked down the long corridor. By the looks of it, the place was a center for youths, perhaps it held after school programs. He was just beginning to wonder which one of the many doors lining the hall he should begin looking in, when a splash sounded from the far end of the building.  _ “Sherlock Holmes is sneaking out to take a late night swim?”  _ The thought was utterly ridiculous, but the sounds of sloshing water were unmistakable.

John quietly walked down the hall, careful not to let his footsteps echo against the concrete walls. Near the end of the hall, just as the pool was coming into sight, were the changing rooms. Figuring there was a back entrance into the pool through the changing room, John ducked inside. The room was lined with lockers and a few benches, just past them was a second, smaller room that held a few showers and toilets. And sure enough, on the the other side of that room, was a door marked “Pool”.

John moved quickly to the door, placed a hand on it, and just as he was about to push it open a thought came to him. He quickly kicked off his shoes and socks to aid in his silence, left them by the door, and pushed it open. The door led to a second hall, but instead of being long and straight like the other, this one was short and at a right angle, wrapping around the side of the pool. Not knowing what was on the other side of the corner, John rounded it slowly, and was glad for his caution as the hall came to an abrupt end, opening out at the edge of the pool where Sherlock's duffle bag and clothes could be seen lying in a rumpled heap on the floor.

Looking inside the pool he had just enough sense to clamp his mouth shut as his eyes drank in the sight before him. Sherlock was swimming alright, but it was nothing like John had ever seen before. Around his legs and waist was, what John had to admit, the most beautiful and elegant mermaid tail he'd ever seen. Well, merman, not like he had ever seen any in person before. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, it was hard to make out exactly what color it was, but it shone hints of deep blues, purples, and blacks. The fins were tipped with white, while the main dorsal fin was a brilliant purple. Plumage, much like you’d see on a lionfish, swept gracefully away from Sherlock’s hips and the tip of the tail as he moved through the water.

John carefully knelt, staying partially hidden around the corner, and watched awestruck as Sherlock cut in and out of the water as if he’d been borne to it. He expertly maneuvered to the deep end of the pool and began a series of backflips that would have made any dolphin jealous. As John watched, he began to forget that he was spying on Sherlock. He watched, transfixed, as Sherlock’s gorgeous body moved through the pool. Never before had John seen anything as beautiful or mesmerizing as what was before him now. And, if he was honest with himself, never had something non sexual ever aroused him quite like this.

A part of him knew that he should be shocked, or surprised, or find it at least a tiny bit weird that his flatmate was swimming in a pool while wearing a fish tail, but he didn't. Instead, he found it overwhelmingly astounding. Even a little hurt, that Sherlock would hide something as beautiful as this from him, after sharing the intimacy of his self composed music with him. How he would have loved watching Sherlock learn how to slice through the water with such precision as he was now.

He didn’t remember standing, nor did he remember how long he’d been kneeling. But judging by the ache in his legs, it must have been at least 30 minutes. He now found himself sitting at the edge of the pool, already in the process of rolling up his trousers, with the intention of dipping his feet in the water.

“Bloody gorgeous…” He muttered as Sherlock swam directly underneath him and his dorsal fin gently tickled the bottom of his foot. Sherlock's curls wafted around his head in the water, and as he floated past John dipped his fingers into the water as if reaching for his locks. “It's like you're a sodding siren, calling to me, luring me into joining you in the water.” He breathed in trancelike awe.

A resolute silence encased Sherlock’s senses as his entire body was enveloped by the welcoming embrace of the tranquil water he had become so used to. He took a moment to allow his body to adjust to the contrasting temperature of his new surroundings, before completely indulging in newfound pastime. It honestly had started out as a simple experiment, a way for him to understand the motive behind a brutal double murder. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective of the situation, Sherlock had discovered his talent for swimming; specifically his talent for utilizing an artificial mermaid tail for said swimming.

Before Sherlock had met John, there was nothing that could quiet the constant roar that took place in his own mind. A constant bombardment of information, overwhelming stimulation of his senses. Then John had come into his life and somehow managed to change all of that with his smile, fuzzy jumpers and tough yet patient disposition. There came a time however, that even John wasn’t able to stop the chaos which was his mind. If anything, John Watson had become part of the problem.

It wasn’t until sometime after he had faked his death, that Sherlock had come to terms with his true feelings regarding his friend and flatmate. He had always known John to be special, but was either unwilling or unable to understand the full magnitude the small man had over his emotions, his heart. None of that mattered however, as John had moved on with his life, in more ways than one, when Sherlock had finally returned. Even after the dust had settled following the events with Mary, Sherlock still felt unable to push forward. After all, John had made his opinion perfectly clear when people assumed they had been a couple. “Not Gay” and all of that.

Sherlock closed his eyes, banishing all thoughts of John, of murder cases, of everything not related to the euphoric sensations related to his current activity. He allowed his emotions to be swept away, the swirling flow of the water mixing and diluting them until there was nothing left.

Sherlock smiled as he stirred up the serenity of the still water. His abdominal and leg muscles receiving a glorious workout as he turned and twisted through the water. His private sanctuary was soon shattered however, as a strong and unyielding presence made itself known. Sherlock could feel himself begin to panic as he broke the surface, and his gaze landed on an amazed yet slightly baffled John Watson. Sherlock swallowed as John continued to gaze unwaveringly at him. He briefly wondered if John hadn’t noticed his current appearance, but quickly deduced that John had not only done as such, but seemed to be unable to focus on anything else.

Sherlock squared his shoulders, or as well as anyone could when they were more than halfway submerged in water, before giving John one of his most guarded stares. “What are you doing here?”       

“Bloody gorgeous…” John repeated before he realized Sherlock had asked him a question. “Oh, er…” He scratched the back of his head and gave Sherlock a sheepish look. “I followed you…” He pulled his feet out of the water and stuck them under his body. If he were kneeling, he might be able to just reach Sherlock. Very carefully he leaned forward as far as he dared and gave a small triumphant smile as his fingers brushed up against Sherlock's forehead. He brushed a wet curl from Sherlock's forehead then sat back. He couldn't explain why he did it, other than the simple reason that he wanted too.

An electric current travelled down Sherlock’s spine from where John’s fingers had come into contact with his skin. He tried not not let himself look affected as he shot out another sharp question, “Why?”

“I was worried about you. You've been exhausted for weeks. Disappearing most nights… Without a single explanation.” John sat back and ignored the fact that the seat of his trousers  was now wet from sitting next to the pool. “Didn't expect to find this… I half expected to find you… Hell I don't know. Gambling, dog fighting, secret music lessons. … Anything. Never this.” John shifted and managed to settle himself with a grimace in a spectacularly cold puddle, and tried to look as nonchalant about the whole situation as he could. After all, it wasn't like this was the first time one of them had followed the other. When Sherlock simply continued to glare at him he decided to keep going. Eventually Sherlock would interrupt him when get got a fact wrong.

“So,” John licked his lips before continuing, “you've been here?” He tried to keep his eyes focused on Sherlock's face, but in the close proximity John was able to more clearly see the tail. It wasn't black, like he had first thought, but a deep purple. It appeared as if each scale had been individually painted. Some shone a brilliant royal blue while others were more iridescent and caught the light in a most spectacular way. Each fin was tipped in pearly white and reminded John of peacock feathers.

No reply. Of course not. Far be it that Sherlock would actually answer someone when it was  _ actually  _ appreciated.

“How long? Two… Three weeks? To master it? Where did you get it? And…. Can I feel it?” He paused. Sherlock's face had become an expressionless blank slate, obviously overwhelmed from his questioning. He was what John liked to call Offline.  “Right, sorry… I'll just be going then. We can talk when you get home, or forget it.” He stood up and brushed off his behind and made to leave the way he had come.

As soon as John stood to retreat, Sherlock felt a stab of panic blossom deep within the confines of his chest. He couldn’t explain why the thought of John leaving, of forgetting everything that he saw tonight (or pretending to), caused him such alarm. Before now, Sherlock was perfectly content with forever keeping this side of himself secret, from everyone. Now however….

“John!” Sherlock’s deep voice reverberated throughout the dimly light room. Sherlock silently hoped that John would change his mind, the fact that the older man had stopped in his retreat giving him hope.

John forced the grin off of his face and slowly turned around. Sherlock was now at the edge of the pool, arms crossed over the side with his tail flowing behind him. John tried not to stare. After a moment of trying, and failing, he cleared his throat and sat on a bench, that thankfully was exactly where the thought he remembered it being from his brief look at the room.

“I..” He squeaked out and cleared his throat, hoping sherlock wouldn't tease him for the slight squeak in his voice. “I can just sit here, or… wait in the other room.” He nodded towards the dressing room where his shoes were waiting for him.

Sherlock found himself bringing his attention downwards, picking at the concrete that rested underneath his hands. Part of him wanted John to stay, to share with him this secret passion. There was still a portion of Sherlock however that, even though John had proven continuously how different he was from everyone, still had major trepidations. He also wanted to ask John if he truly was interested, that the words he believed Sherlock couldn’t hear were genuine, but the deep seated fear of it all being a farce held his tongue. Instead, Sherlock asked John a simple question, one whose answer could easily be deflected away from the emotions and into merely the desire to obtain information.

Even though he had convinced himself of the safety, Sherlock’s voice still came out soft, uncertain. “Do you...would you like to….” The young detective inclined his head towards the steps that lead into the shallows, hoping his question wouldn’t be lost on John.   

“I don't exactly have my swim trunks with me, Sherlock.” John laughed, the corners of his eyes turning up with his smile. “As it is now I have to walk home in the cold with a wet bum.” Despite his words John stood and moved to sit on the upper most step, placing his feet in the water a few steps below. He flexed his toes and grinned.

“It's a bit cold. Couldn't get them to warm it up for you? You're going to freeze your nards off.”

Sherlock scoffed, John’s statement causing his usual demeanor to return. He pushed lightly against the wall, using the slight momentum to put himself back toward the center of the pool. “I’ve been immersed long enough that my receptors are quite acclimated to the water's temperature,” Sherlock then began casually maneuvering himself closer towards the steps, “And I wasn’t asking about you joining me. I was curious if you still wanted to examine my  _ unusual  _ appendage.”

“It's unusual, alright.”  John mused, but there was no hint of mockery in his voice. “But….” He scratched at his chin. “Are you… Naked under that?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Obviously...and you didn’t answer my question.” There was a terse inflection on the last portion of his statement, unease and doubt about the situation clearly seeping back into his disposition.  

“Well… Yes.” John spoke cautiously as he watched Sherlock slowly back away from him, propelled by the tail. “But you'll have to come closer. Can't see it through the water very well. And I swear to god, if you splash me, you'll live to regret it.”

A soft chuckle escaped Sherlock as the vivid image of him doing just that manifested in his mind. He would be lying if he said the temptation wasn’t there. He resisted (for now), and began making his way back towards the man whose was clearly transfixed on his persons. Inside, Sherlock preened at the obvious attention, however his expression conveyed nothing beyond the obvious tension that was strung throughout his body.

The consulting detective gnawed on his bottom lip, the tender skin becoming red and plump from the attention. The slight pain grounded him as he gracefully slid up next to John. The younger man settled himself upon the step just below, allowing for an easy escape back into the water if things became too intense. He was considerate of John’s position however, swinging his “tail” upwards until it rested just below John’s feet.     

“Bloody gorgeous.”  John breathed, and tentatively reached a hand out towards the billowing tail. When Sherlock didn't recoil he sunk his hand into the water and touched the pads of his fingers to one of the fins. He didn't know what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. It wasn't slimy, it wasn't cold, it didn't feel like scales. It felt more like the rubbery head of a dolphin.

“Custom made? It must be. Fits you like a glove.” John's eyes roamed over Sherlock's lower half and he had to make a conscious effort to not stare where the tight material covered Sherlock's bulge. John cleared his throat and snapped his eyes over to meet Sherlock's, forcing himself not to blush.

Sherlock couldn’t hold the smirk back from his features as John’s thoughts easily filtered across his face. “It’s not real John. It’s made from platinum-cured silicone, not actual scales; I’m not secretly a mythological being parading around as a human,” Sherlock folded himself under the metal railing that divided the stairway, situating his hands behind and stretching his entire body out in a way that could easily be argued as almost sensual, “And yes, it’s custom made. Costly, but surprisingly worth the expense.”  

“Not a mythological being? Really?” John groaned and kicked some water in the direction of Sherlock's face. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Sherlock simply sat there, glaring and blinking through the water as it dripped down his face. Saying he  looked like at wet dog, with his hair in his face, was an understatement. John couldn't help himself as he fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly snapped a picture of his flatmate, giving a small chuckle upon inspecting it.

If one later asked about the events that transpired, Sherlock would be hard pressed to discern which was actually the catalyst for his actions. Was it because John had taken a picture of him, face soaking, half naked and pouting? Or was it because John had merely splashed him in the face and Sherlock was never one for being one upped? Regardless of motive, it only took Sherlock a handful of moments, a mere precious seconds, to draw upon the power within both his abdominal muscles and legs to bring a cascading wall of liquid down upon John’s persons.              
  
"Oi!" John's shout echoed throughout the room as he looked up at a now grinning Sherlock. "You cock!" He wiped the water from his face and retaliated by kicking even more water at Sherlock while attempting to shield his phone.   
  
For a while, Sherlock was quite content with continuing his and John’s teeter tottering exchange of chlorine infested water. That was, until a unique and interesting idea floated from the deep recesses of his subconscious, to settle quite securely into the forefront of his brain.

"Can you swim?"   
  
"Ermmm... Yes." The question caught John off guard. Before he could even process the possible reasoning behind such a question however, Sherlock gracefully yet swiftly maneuvered himself back into the water and made an obvious reach for John. The short blonde tried to grab hold of the railing but it was too late. Sherlock's spidery fingers firmly wrapped around his ankle and, in a flash, he was being dragged, feet first, into the middle of the pool.   
  
"Fuck you, Holmes!" John gurgled. It might have just been the water that was now in his ears, but John thought he heard Sherlock laugh.   
  
They were in the deep end of the pool when Sherlock finally let go. John surprised Sherlock by being an expert swimmer and righted himself almost immediately. With a groan he glanced at his waterlogged phone then looked up at Sherlock with a hard look.   
  
"You owe me a new phone, you tit."  
  
A flamboyant smirk graced Sherlock features as he tossed his head back, shaking some of the excess water from his curls. "Make up your mind, John. Am I a cock, or a tit?"  
  
John replied by cupping his hands and sending a torrent of water directly at Sherlock's face. Sherlock blinked, sputtered, and surged forward placing both hands on John's shoulders. The last thing John heard before his head was pushed underwater was Sherlock's laugh.   
  
Sherlock watched with a smirk as John thrashed around for a few moments. When he finally let go, and only after John's knee came dangerously close to his groin, John struggled to the top and surfaced mere inches from Sherlock's face. What John did next however, was purely out of impulse. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder for support then with bus other hand he brushed his thumb over Sherlock's bottom lip.   
  
"Shouldn't bite..." He rebuked gently, feeling all his anger at having been pulled into the pool being replaced by an odd flutter in his chest. For a moment he just stared at Sherlock's self abused bottom lip, his thumb still pressed lightly against it and time seemed to stop. The spell was broken however when he felt a slight tug in his, albeit wet, pants. With a sad smile and a shake of his head he gently pushed himself off and away from Sherlock and began swimming towards the closest ladder.

To say that Sherlock was a bit stunned would have been quite the understatement. He was mostly frozen as his brain attempted to catch up with the events that had just transpired, ignoring the small movements he was making to stay afloat. The spot where John’s thumb had been, was alight with warmth. The small fire, that had been gentle smoldering embers, was now a raging torrent of heat and the gentle flutter of butterflies had become a raging storm, deep within the confines of Sherlock’s chest.

He wanted to call out, wanted to stop John from fleeing; wanted to ask him exactly what was going on between them, wanted an explanation for all of these  _ inconvenient  _ feelings. Unfortunately, Sherlock’s tongue had suddenly transformed into lead, as well as completely forgetting how to manipulate his vocal cords to create sound. All he could do was remain silent, feeling John disappear back into the shadows and feel like his only chance to explore what “could have been” disappear with him.   __

John paused with his hand on the wall before disappearing out of sight. He turned, eyes fixed on the floor between himself and Sherlock. He opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again before finally making eye intact. “Try not to laugh, at the thought of me, walking home soaking wet, and I'll have a cuppa waiting for you when you get home.” With that he disappeared down the hall, suddenly wishing he had left his phone with his shoes.

  
OoOoOo  
  


John changed into pajamas and was just pouring out the tea when the front door opened. Sherlock cautiously entered the room and headed directly down the hall.

“Tea is ready.” John called out after him.

Sherlock paused in his steps after hearing John enthusiastic voice. Apparently ignoring what had happened between them was the route they were taking. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed. Regardless he dropped his duffle bag back just inside his room and went to sit in his chair without so much as looking at John.

John, still feeling some of the emotions that had been stirred up in the pool, carried both mugs of tea into the sitting room and handed one to Sherlock. The detective reached up with both hands, cupping them around the mug, and John's fingers. John’s heart fluttered in the most confusing fashion as he let his hand linger for a moment longer than he probably should have, then, clearing his throat he pulled away and sat in his own chair. Silence filled the room and was abruptly broken when John sniffed and looked up at Sherlock.

“You know…” Sherlock's eyes snapped opened and looked at John with a guarded expression. “The part I find absurd?” He said, eyeing the detective’s perfectly dried hair. “That you blow dried your hair!” John let out a soft chuckle and regarded Sherlock with a smirk as all the tension in the air disappeared.

Nearly a half hour later John stood up and looked at his friend. “Go to bed, you look like hell. If you won't listen to your doctor, then listen to your friend.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s retreating form. He hated complying with such tedious demands, but knew that even he would not be able to fight the pull of human nocturne necessities tonight. After John retreated up to his own bedroom, Sherlock stood, stretching his pleasantly sore limbs before disappearing into his own private sanctuary. He wasn’t sure how much of a sanctuary it would be tonight however. He had an inkling that his dreams would be filled, not with difficult and complex murder cases, but of his friend and flatmate; intense passionate dreams that he would wake up from alone and hollow.

As always, his mind never disappointed.  

OoOoOo  
  


The last rays of the early summer sun danced across the pages of John's book. But it was a shadow in the hall that caught his attention. Closing the book he looked up and saw Sherlock leaning on the doorframe, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“Going to the pool then?”

“Mm.” Sherlock nodded and adjusted the strap on his shoulder. Ever since John had discovered his secret two months ago Sherlock had started leaving earlier in the evening instead of waiting until John was asleep. “Coming?”

“Mm, just going to get my swim trunks.” John smirked as he placed the book on the sofa. If Sherlock decided to pull him into the pool this time, at least he'd be ready. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, unbettaed, un edited, old work. Clearing out my google docs and wanted to at least post it...

**Chapter Two**

 

Life seemingly carried on in Baker Street very much the same. But to the trained eye, something had changed, even if what it was wasn’t exactly tangible. John seemed to be slightly more agreeable to certain body parts in the freezer, the scrotum and breasts he insisted were crossing the line however. Sherlock didn’t argue (much) when John made sure Sherlock performed tasks that the doctor deemed important, like sleep and the ingestion of food. John had even stopped with his pointless dating, content to spend the evenings either at pool, or home sitting beside his friend on the sofa. To those paying attention, they had become inseparable, even more so than before. Touches now lasted seconds longer, glances lasting even longer. lasted even longer than they had before. Something, though unspoken, and changed between them. 

It was now mid August and the summer heat was suffocating. John didn't mind, however, as the weather was coinciding perfectly with his plan. With the help of Mycroft, and a knowledgeable travel agent, John had planned a trip to the coast all without Sherlock's knowing.    
  
"The beach.” John broke the silence and looked up as Sherlock tried to unstick his bare skin from his leather chair. When Sherlock said nothing John continued. “A holiday. To the beach. Tonight.”

“Sounds tolerable.” Sherlock didn’t want to admit, but the heat was even starting to affect him. Going somewhere that may help alleviate his misery, even a tiny portion, was very much welcomed.   
  
"Good. I've got it all planned." Sherlock glanced up at him with a hint of suspicion in his eyes but John just smiled. "When I find the heat unbearable, that means everyone around me must be miserable." His time in Afghanistan had raised his tolerance for the heat a lot more than that of an average Londoner. He shrugged and nodded towards Sherlock's room. "Go pack, we leave in an hour."

Just over three hours later found both men shuffling their bags into a small private cottage on a secluded beach just outside Poole. Sherlock surveyed his surroundings with interest but said nothing. John, feeling quite chuffed, tossed a pair of trunks at Sherlock and grinned. 

“I know it's dark, but let's go check out the beach. I hear we have our own private cove and I'm keen to see it. We can eat when we get back.” This earned a surprised look from Sherlock and John had to leave the room before giving away the torrent of emotions that flooded his being. 

Alone in the next room he leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. He was sure his plan would work, well, half of it at least, but that didn't help lessen his nerves. He and Sherlock had been dancing around certain feelings now for far too long, and he felt like it was now or never. Collecting himself he changed quickly and threw a towel over his left shoulder, partly to hide his scar. Sherlock of course had seen his scar before, during their many trips to the pool, but John had never quite gotten used to it.

There was something about the entire situation that had Sherlock on edge. Not like when he was high on adrenaline, seconds away from apprehending a suspect, or moments from connecting the final piece that would make the entire puzzle clear to even the simplest of minds. No, this feeling was stemming from the deep recesses of his sympathetic nervous system; his fight or flight response was in overdrive, emphasis on the flight. Sherlock had never let anyone get as close as John, and Sherlock had a feeling that tonight would either make or break them. Part of him wanted to put his swimwear on and embrace what was to come, knowing John would never lead them into danger. The other part wanted to grab everything and run straight back to London and back into the safety of his work.       

Before leaving the room John allowed himself a moment of pride. Everything, so far, was working according the plan. Finding this cottage, and renting it, had been the easy part. The trickier details had been getting Sherlock's merman tail here secretly, without him missing it. He had gone to Lestrade, claiming Sherlock was insufferable with boredom, and his friend had managed to scrape up a few interesting cold cases. All that, was merely tricky. Now that they were here, well now came the incredibly difficult part. John knew Sherlock would sense something was up, he was Sherlock Holmes. He was the man who could tell if John was wearing a new pair of shoes without ever opening his eyes. And he didn't want to spook the young detective.    
  


Somehow Sherlock had managed to convince himself to remove all of his clothing and actually put on his swimwear before John had emerged from the adjoining room. Nevertheless, his apprehension had not even remotely calmed. If anything, his body was now vibrating with both nerves and the chill from having most of his skin exposed. It wasn’t until John flashed him one of his warm smiles, that Sherlock started to relax. He hadn’t completely lowered his defences yet, but it was enough that he was able to take the towel John offered him and follow the older man out without any verbal objections.   
  
With his hand on the handle, John stretched, rolled his neck and sucked in a deep breath. It was now or never. He entered the main room to find a fidgeting Sherlock standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room. John offered him what he hoped would be a reassuring smile and nodded towards the door. When he met no objection he tossed Sherlock a towel and headed towards the door. 

 

Though they walked wordlessly down the narrow path towards the beach John could tell, if only in the slight spring in Sherlock's step that, regardless of the apprehension, his friend was happier than he has been in weeks. The path they were on rounded a corner and opened out, revealing a small, but perfectly secluded cove. Just to their left, sheltered in some of the bare trees and grass that grew by the sand, was a small weather worn shed. Sherlock paid it little attention however, in favor of staring longingly at the ocean. Small waves rippled towards the shore but died out long before they reached their destination. Moonlight glistened on the water, and a warm breeze blew around them, tossing their hair. 

“Sherlock?” John stepped close Sherlock's side and placed a hand on the small of his back. A movement that even despite their dance over the past months, was still exceptionally bold. Sherlock's skin was warm and an electric current seemed to form for both men at the contact. 

“It's beautiful.” Sherlock smiled, and despite the smile and happy front, John could see he was still slightly unhappy. Something was missing and John believed he knew exactly what it was.

“Would this help?” John asked, removing his hand from Sherlock's back and walking a few paces to the shed and opening the door where just inside was Sherlock's worn duffle bag. 

Moonlight glistened in Sherlock's eyes as they fell on the bag that was lying directly behind John. The detective's long, lanky legs closed the space between them faster than John could even blink. They were so close, that Sherlock's hand, even though his hands were still at his sides, brushed up against John's thigh. 

John's heart leapt in his chest, the close proximity made him dizzy, but he held Sherlock's gaze regardless of how piercing as it was. All it would take, was another inch, and their lips would meet. John was working up the courage to surge forward on his tiptoes when Sherlock reached past him and grabbed the bag, tearing down to the water's edge. Just like that, the spell was broken. Just like that, John was left wondering if he was better off giving up now. 

As he watched Sherlock, sitting in the water however, slowly working his tail on, perfectly silhouetted in the moonlight, he knew he couldn't give up. Knowing Sherlock was far too involved with his current task, and probably wouldn't pay him any attention until he was fully in the water, John reached inside the dark shed and pulled out a long package. He worked the wrapping off, a heavy duty paper, and for the first time saw his very own tail. It wasn't long, or as ornate as Sherlock's, but what it lacked in frill it would surely make up for in the sun. He'd picked out a deep ruby red. And when the sun hit it, it would change from red, to green, to gold. And if he were to admit it,  he was very proud of it. 

John slung the object over his shoulder, left his towel next to where Sherlock’s had been tossed in his excitement, and began walking towards his friend. When he reached the water, Sherlock was sitting a few feet out in shallow water, his body gently rocking back and forth as small waves cascaded over him. 

Sherlock had his head thrown back, the sea air ruffling his curls and he basked in the freedom he hadn’t been able to partake in for a time. Eye’s closed, he sensed John’s approach more than saw. “Are you joining me, John?” 

“In a minute… just need to figure out how to put this blasted thing on…” John huffed as he repositioned his tail on his shoulder. It was heavier than he had expected, and he was seriously beginning to wonder if he'd be strong enough to swim with it. He wasn't quite as fit as he had been, even only a few years ago. 

“What, _ thing?” _ Sherlock’s face scrunched in irritation, clearly annoyed at John's lack of nouns. 

“This…” With a final heave John let his tail flop in the water at his feet and waited for Sherlock's reaction. 

At the dull thud of something solid and heavy hitting the sand, Sherlock spun his head around and quickly found the source of the brief commotion. A mermaid tail, similar yet drastically different from his own, lay a few inches away. Kaleidoscope coloured eyes widened as the facts settled into place and realizations were made. “That… That's a….” Sherlock twisted his upper body round so he was facing John, tail stretched out behind him. “Yours?”

“Mine.” John nodded. “Though I have no idea how to get into it…” John inspected his tail, then his legs and chuckled as a thought came to him.  _ “Quite like a condom… For my legs.” _

“John… You…” Sherlock was still stuck on the fact that John had his very own mermaid, well merman, tail. 

“Yes…” John nodded and waited patiently for Sherlock to catch up. “And I rather need help putting it on. If you don't mind. Also, I fear I'll need your help to keep from drowning.”

Sherlock eventually snapped to his sense and after twenty minutes of, “John, stop flouncing.” and “Would you just stay still?” John was finally on his stomach testing the way his tail felt in the water. 

“This is… incredible.” John turned over onto his back and gave his legs a kick. 

“You're incredible.” A soft voice breathed at his elbow. John turned to see Sherlock lying on his stomach beside him, watching him in awe. 

“Sherlock…” John's heart fluttered and told him it was now or never. “I'm not gay.” Though he said it gently, in a tone that clearly said he still had more to say. However, Sherlock snorted and began to move away before John could continue. “Oi! Would you get back here, I'm not sodding done.” John shouted and through the bright light of the moon John could make out Sherlock's apprehension so he added more gently, “Please? Just...come here, for a moment?” 

Eying the blonde with hesitation, Sherlock slowly made his way back toward John, however he wasn't nearly as close as he had been before. 

“Right…” John sighed and squared his shoulders and, needing something other than Sherlock to look at least he lose all of his nerve, he focused his eyes on the moon. “I'm not gay. Well, I say that, because I don't know what the fuck I am. I'm not quite straight either.” John risked a look at Sherlock and found him periodically scooting closer. 

“There was…that is I had…in the army.” John cleared his throat and tried to remember what he had been planning to say. “You remember James Sholto?” Sherlock nodded, so with a grunt John continued. “After him…well, you saw who I dated. Think I was trying to protect myself. Didn't want to get hurt again. Figured women wouldn't push me away.” The doctor shrugged and sighed, giving his tail a little flick. “Getting sidetracked. Sorry.” John scooted to his left and closed the remaining space between himself and Sherlock. 

“What I'm trying to say…” John absentmindedly ran his hands over his tail. 

“You're bisexual.” Sherlock's strong voice cut through the turmoil in John's head and John actually laughed. 

“Perhaps, yes. But, what I'm  _ really _ trying to say…well, I don't think it can be said with words.” John grinned and twisted in the water until he was kneeling, albeit very awkwardly. They had slowly been letting the water take them, and they were deep enough now that the water lapped around his navel, so he had little problem supporting himself, it was just a matter of how and where to put his fin covered legs. He was now kneeling at Sherlock's side, just to his right. John's lifted his right hand out of the water and placed it on the far side of Sherlock's face and gave it a little pull, effectively making the detective look at him. 

As their eyes met in the moonlight, John surged forward and pressed their lips together, surprising himself by uttering a needy moan upon contact. His fingers, as if on their own accord, sunk into Sherlock's damp curls. John's other hand, which had been hanging at his side rose up and gently took hold of Sherlock's hip. A nano second passed, and Sherlock still had not pulled away. Confident that he would have by now, John deepened the kiss, letting out an even louder and more embarrassing moan. 

He lost it, however, when Sherlock reciprocated by placing both of his hands on the back of his head, tugging almost needily at his hair. John blindly kissed at Sherlock's cheek as tears streamed down his face. With a sob he pressed their foreheads together, still stealing chaste kisses. He sniffled, laughed and shook his head. 

“All this time…” He kissed Sherlock's bottom lip, remembering how it had looked that night in the pool, red and swollen from being bitten. “Thought you were married to your work…” He kissed that lip again, this time pulling it into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth, claiming it as his own. “Could have had you? Could have had this?”

Sherlock’s breath had become quite heavy with the emotional exertion running through both of them. Even though his lips were thoroughly moist from the extensive snogging session that had just taken place, Sherlock couldn’t help but run his tongue over them. Sherlock didn’t want to admit he was nervous, he never liked to admit any sort of discomfort. This alone drove him to push forward, to bare what he could to John.

“I don’t believe I wanted anything then. At least, I didn’t want to admit that I did,” Sherlock pulled his gaze from John’s and focused on the modest detail of John’s fin as he spoke, “Within a few moments of meeting you, I felt that you were going to be different. After my assumptions had been confirmed, I became…..unsettled.”

The brows that caressed Sherlock’s forehead furrowed as he drew upon past memories, “When you made that pass at me I panicked. I knew I wanted you, and that scared me. I swore from an early age I would never let anyone get close so I threw out the only deflection I felt would keep you away.” 

One of Sherlock’s hands trailed down to John’s hip and pressed his fingerprints into the damp skin he found there. His gaze remained focused away from John. Even though his feelings on the subject had obviously changed, he was still apprehensive of what lay ahead.          

“No more deflections.” John whispered so softly he was hardly heard over the sound of the ocean. “No more denial. Just us. Just this.” Sensing Sherlock's apprehension John brushed a hand over his cheek and smiled. “Do you trust me?”

Sherlock pulled his eyes back up to John. He bit his lip slightly before uttering almost just as quietly, “More than anything.”

Forgetting that he had entered the ocean with the intent of trying out his new tail, and only focusing on the soft lips that brushed against his, John moved his hands to Sherlock's back and pulled his body flush against his. After what seemed both an age and no time at all, tide slowly came in and gentle waves began to lap around their torsos. John began to feel the pull of his tail and finally separated his lips from Sherlock's. 

“Would you teach me how to use this thing?” He splashed his tail in the water and grinned as it accidentally sent water splashing into Sherlock's face. 

Sherlock ran a pale hand over his face, wiping off the water John had sent propelling in his direction. He couldn’t keep the smile from appearing, nor did he really even wish to try if he wanted to be completely honest. While John had a difficult time in making Sherlock do anything voluntarily, had that unnatural ability to cause Sherlock to do many things involuntary. The detective briefly wondered if John had any idea, but pushed that simple thought aside, at least until they arrived back in London.

“You’re lucky I have some restraint John. Otherwise, we may have ended up in the exact predicament back at the pool.”    

“Doesn't sound so bad…” John grinned and surged forward, pushing Sherlock on to his back.  With one last salty kiss John twisted onto his back and with some difficult began to float, letting the soft waves rock him. 

They spent the better part of the next hour in shallower water as John learned. Sherlock took turns teaching John and watching him execute what he'd learned, only wading in when it John has difficulty staying afloat. Then while John was mastering the basics and once he was sure John wouldn't drown himself he pressed a kiss to John's forehead and swam out into deeper waters. 

Growing bored of practising turning and diving John sat back and watched as Sherlock's figure cut through the water further out in the cove. Sucking in a breath and growing bold John left the safety of shallow water and began swimming out towards Sherlock. To his surprise, he found it easier to swim in the deeper water and in no time he was by Sherlock's side. 

“Not that I found it odd before…but never knew what this felt like.” John swam a circle around Sherlock and decided to show off by diving under and surging to the top with as much effort as he could muster. He broke through the water and landed with an epic splash on his stomach. John rolled onto his back and let out a laugh. 

“So, is this better than the pool?” John asked as he floated past. 

Sherlock could not help the swell of warmth that blossomed in his chest, started somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, and spreading throughout the rest of his body like his own lifeforce. They hadn’t been out here anymore than a couple hours, a single one being dedicated to him teaching John how to use and manoeuvre in his new attire, and already the smaller man was almost an expert. His form could still use some practice, but right now it was enough that Sherlock was positive John wasn’t going to drown.

Doing laps around John, literally, as the other man leisurely floated upon his back, Sherlock couldn’t help but regard John with that same warmth he felt within him. “Quite, and not just because of the authenticity,” Sherlock stopped mid lap and found himself looking up toward the pinpricks of light that were scattered throughout the darkness covering the sky, “I feel more at ease out here, the noise in my mind quieting down for once.”    

“Mm.” John nodded as best he could while floating and spread his arms out beside him. “I know another thing that’ll quiet your mind.” John rolled back onto his stomach and began swimming back towards shore. “Coming?” He called out behind him. Sensing Sherlock's hesitation John manoeuvred his tail beneath his body and effectively stood on it while facing the man he wanted to make his lover. “Come on, I don't bite.” John added a seductive air to his voice as he said, “hard.” With that he continued his swim towards shore and had only just struggled out of his tail by the time Sherlock caught up. 

Back in the cottage John set about making both of them sandwiches. He didn't ask Sherlock if it wanted one, didn't even ask if he was going to eat. He just made it and placed it on a plate in front of the skinny man who was currently hunched over on the sofa deep in thought. Sitting next to him, John pressed his shoulder against Sherlock to draw his attention to the food. Though they ate in silence, they kept catching each other steal longing glances. Finally, long after John's sandwich and half of Sherlock's was gone, John placed his empty plate down and let out a hearty laugh. 

“It's like we're teenagers, too afraid to tell the other we fancy them.” John took Sherlock’s plate out of his hand and nodded happily that half the sandwich had been eaten without complaint. Without preamble he placed the plates down on the floor and turned to look at his friend.  “So, this is me, Sherlock, telling you that I fancy you.”

Before Sherlock had time to respond John had him pinned to the sofa and was working on clambering over him. Neither of them had changed out of their swim trunks, so when John leaned forward their bellies and chests met, their damp skin sticking together, but John didn't care. All he cared about was Sherlock’s neck. Though he would never admit it, Sherlock's neck had been a keen point of temptation over the course of their friendship, and now that he had permission he needed to know what it felt like to kiss. And bite. Especially bite. 

Moments before his mouth locked down on a particularly tempting freckle John had half a mind to ask Sherlock a rather important question. “Sherlock?” Despising knowing he needed to focus, John brushed his lips over the salty pale skin. “Is there,” a soft kiss, just one, and then he'd continue. “anything you don't want to do? Haven't done? Sexually, that is.” John's hands roamed down Sherlock's body and stopped just above the thin material of Sherlock's swim trunks.

A slight pinkish tint painted Sherlock's cheeks, not at the question, but at the intimacy upon which it was being asked. “If you are asking whether I am a virgin, the answer is undoubtedly yes,” Sherlock gave John the most intense stares he could muster considering his current state, “However, do not mistaken me for some blushing, fragile virgin. I abstained from any sort of sexual encounter, not because of some sacred idealistic opinion on “saving myself”, but because I simply never saw the need behind such primal urges.”    

“Right…” John bit down on Sherlock's neck, red from the blush that coloured the detective's pale skin, and sunk his hands under his thin frame, grabbing two strong handfuls of arse. “I promise not to hurt you.” He looked up with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Though, don't for a second think I'll be gentle.”

A small, but no less devious smirk emerged upon Sherlock’s features, “Good.”

Four years of pent up desire and longing bubbled to the surface of John's being as he transformed from the trustworthy sidekick of a reckless detective into an Army Captain out for blood. (Okay, in this case, he was out for arse, Sherlock's arse, not blood.) The thin frame beneath him went limp in his grasp as John's hands kneaded and squeezed Sherlock's pert arse. John’s breathing became laboured and ragged as his mouth worked its way up and over Sherlock's neck until his tongue slid over the sharp line of his lover’s (his heart fluttered to think that finally, he could call Sherlock his lover) jaw. 

“Put your hands here.” John ordered after Sherlock had been limp for far too long. He needed to feel Sherlock, all of him, all over him, and if the young detective didn't know what to do, 

John would help him through it. He took both of Sherlock's hands and placed them on his own hips. “Just do what feels right. You won't break me.”

A loud gasp tore itself from Sherlock’s lips as John’s warm breath ghosted over Sherlock’s still slightly chilled skin. It felt amazing, everything felt amazing and they hadn’t even gotten past heavy petting. John had told him to do whatever felt right. Everything felt right. John’s focus solely on him, John’s breath warming his skin, the kisses that set his senses on rapid fire, the touches that felt like John’s fingerprints were searing their unique patterns into Sherlock’s skin, John’s body resting atop and around his own to the point Sherlock felt he was about to be consumed by John’s entire essence. Sherlock told John all of this and how he wanted it, wanted it all.  

With a long drawn out sigh John placed opened mouth kisses along Sherlock's jaw and let out a moan as their lips finally touched. Sherlock’s skin was still pleasantly salty from their swim as John swiped his tongue over Sherlock’s plush bottom lip. With each kiss, and each deliberate flick of his tongue, John felt Sherlock slowly letting go until the detective was lost in his own pleasure. Velvety baritone moans soon escaped through perfect lips, long fingers roamed their way over John's back, down his sides, until John couldn't take it anymore. 

John gripped Sherlock's hips and with a strong heave, he lifted the, surprisingly heavy, man off the sofa and roughly pushed him against the nearest wall. The impact sent a picture careening off the wall onto the floor where it fell with a loud bang, though neither man noticed.  With his mouth still mapping a course over Sherlock's body, he grabbed both of Sherlock's hands, raised them above their heads and with one strong hand pinned them there. With his free hand John lightly trailed it down Sherlock's body until he again felt the damp fabric of Sherlock's trunks. 

With very little fanfare John hooked a finger under the waistband and gave the clothing a firm downward yank, while at the same time hooking a leg around Sherlock's ankle and spreading his long legs. There was a hitch in Sherlock's breath that caused John to pull away in concern. He pressed one more soft kiss to Sherlock's jaw and brought his free hand up to cup his face. 

“Alright? Am I going to fast? Am I being too rough?” John gently brushed his fingers along Sherlock's face and twisted a curl between his fingers. Though crunchy from the sea water, it was surprisingly soft. He twirled a single curl around his finger until an idea came to him. 

While waiting for the detective to answer, John lifted one long, pale leg, and then the other and wrapped them around his waist and with his body weight pinned sherlock’s back against the wall until he was half holding a now-suspended Sherlock. 

A small yelp escaped the consulting detective's lips as he felt himself being suspended in mid air by the smaller man. Instinctively, Sherlock shot his, now free, arms around John’s neck as a means of balance. However, that became quite unnecessary as Sherlock soon found himself securely pinned to the wall, merely by John’s strength alone. That simple fact caused his blood to surge, his obvious increased arousal becoming quite evident through the twitch of his cock and the very loud groan that was torn from his throat.

Sherlock bit his lip closed at the apex of his verbal desire. His cheeks were already tinted a slight pink, but the colour quickly spread down his neck and onto his chest in pure embarrassment. It wasn't as if Sherlock had never become aroused before, the man had obtained enough research data from the span between puberty to adulthood to know exactly what did and didn't arouse his body. However, he had never had such a strong reaction to any of his own personal sexual stimuli before. He couldn't understand why his body reacted in such an embarrassing way now, in front of John of all people. He couldn't think of another moment in his life where he seriously wanted the ground to swallow him entirely. Not even when John and the entire Met made him wear that ridiculous hat for one of their press conferences compared.

“Might just call you bashful from now on.” John chuckled softly and kissed every inch of Sherlock's flushed neck which in turn only made the detective turn a darker shade of red. 

“You know it's perfectly normal, the way you're feeling, yeah? No need to feel embarrassed. Just, ride it. Ride that feeling, let it consume you, Sherlock.” John kissed the usually pale neck and, using his hips for support fumbled with his swim trunk. Due to the damp nature of his skin they stuck to his arse and were impossible to push down from his current position. Being unwilling to let Sherlock down he had an idea. So, with his knuckles ghosting across the detective's erection he asked, “Hey, help me with my trunks, yeah? They're a bit stuck.”

Sherlock's lips, wet from running his tongue over them, curled into a smirk at the thought of disrobing John. Without wasting any time, his long fingers trailed down John's back, and slipped between his skin and swim trunks. As he pushed them down, he took the opportunity to grab two handfuls of John's arse and found himself delighted by the moan that escaped John's lips. 

Their magical escape unable to ward off the summer heat, mixed with the movements of their bodies, it had grown warm in the cottage again Sweat trickled down John’s back, and beaded at Sherlock’s brown. Just as the heat seemed too much though, a gentle breeze blew in through the opened windows and cooled their overheating skin as flesh touched flesh. John pinned his lover to the wall, and with four years of pent up emotions let their cocks pressed together.  

Sherlock hid at first. Hid from the bombardment of new emotions and feelings as he bared all to John Watson. However, the ever-patient man coaxed him out of his own head with reassuring words, and soft moanes uttered directly into his ear as their cocks slowly slid against each other. 

“I want to make you growl with pleasure.” John bit down slightly on Sherlock’s earlobe. Sherlock groaned and wiggled as best as his pinned position would let him, then groaned again as his movement pressed John’s full erection against the length of his own hardness. “Do as I say.” It was half a question, and half an order, Sherlock readily nodded, eyes blown wide with pleasure at the new sensations. “Wrap your hand around both of us. Squeeze them tightly together. Oh… God! Yeah!” John growled as Sherlock did just that, “Mmmhmm, just like that.”

  
“Johnnnnn!” Sherlock’s voice was breathy and desperate and it sent a shockwave down John’s spine. Good lord, this man was  _ sexy _ , and he was all his now. 

“Come for me, Sherlock, come for me my siren.” John rolled his hips into Sherlock’s body, digging his fingers into legs and arse where he was supporting Sherlock’s weight. It only took minutes, though it felt like seconds, before they both were on the floor, Sherlock gently cradled in John’s arms, shaking and covered in each other’s release.    
  
John stroked a hand down Sherlock’s sweaty back and let out a long sigh, then turned to press a kiss to his temple.

“I think my feelings for you are rather clear now.”

“Clearer than water,” came the sated baritone voice. “Though, sex seems to be rather messy.”

“Fancy a swim?” John giggled in agreement as their bodies made a squelching noise, both from sweat and come. 

“Only if you're joining me”

 

“Always,” John smiled.


End file.
